


The Nest at the End of the Branch

by SeasOfRhye



Category: Tales of Berseria
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, I'm back and with more angst, Someone stop me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-10
Updated: 2017-09-10
Packaged: 2018-12-26 00:02:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12047094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeasOfRhye/pseuds/SeasOfRhye
Summary: She lets the smile spread across her face, even though it hurts, because if she doesn’t smile, who will?--A small drabble from an AU I'm working on.  Assumes you've finished Berseria.





	The Nest at the End of the Branch

**Author's Note:**

> screams gently hello everyone I'm back because dunyazad yelled at me to post this help-jk
> 
> BUT, as the summary mentions, this is part of an AU in which Celica survives the Opening while Velvet and Laphicet don't. This scene in particular takes place shortly after the Advent, while Arthur and Celica are en route to Loegres.
> 
> basically this ship gives me the feels ok

These woods are beautiful, but Aball’s would put them to shame.

She sighs airily, gazing at the trees above.  A chorus of birds chirp somewhere in the distance.  Maybe I was wrong, she thinks.  Maybe this place is just as nice as the woods in Aball.  (But can anyone blame her for thinking otherwise, really?  Nowadays, it’s so easy to assume—)

Her shoes press gently against the soil.  The afternoon shadows dance between the trees, hiding their apples for one moment and letting them shine the next.  Even from here, it’s easy to tell that they’re ripe, and not for the first time, she wishes that she something with which to gather them.  If she tries hard enough, she can almost feel the roughness of her old wooden basket, the way it used to catch against her palm and leave little red marks.  It wasn’t the nicest, for sure, but it was hers, (she really should have checked the house more carefully that night, but she had had so little time) and that was what mattered, yes?

A gentle breeze guides her toward the clearing up ahead, ruffling her dress as it goes.  She chuckles in spite of herself, recalling the way that the wind used to toss the apples from her basket, and how Velvet and Laphicet would scream as they ran after them—

She takes a deep breath and closes her eyes.  When she opens them, she’s in the middle of the clearing, staring at naught but periwinkle sky.

I shouldn’t be gone for too long, she reminds herself.  It’s true; she doesn’t want the others to worry, doesn’t want _him_ to worry—

She tries to convince herself that the pit in the depths of her stomach is really nothing at all.  It’s fine; everything is fine.  She’s feeling better already.  This is all she really needed, she thinks; to take a walk out here for a bit (if only he could have come, but he’s so busy now—).

And that’s when she realizes that the birds have stopped chirping.

She isn’t about to claim that she’s an expert on all things nature-related, but if there’s one thing she knows is abnormal, it’s a forest without its birds.  She takes an instinctive step back, gazing around and reminding herself that they swept through these woods and said that they were safe (but to be honest, she should know better by now).

From somewhere in the undergrowth comes a low growl.

Her breath catches in her mouth, and she freezes, hoping against hope that _whatever_ is in there simply leaves.  Perhaps it’s nothing to worry about; it could just be a wild animal, spooked by her presence.

It isn’t.

From the bushes emerges a creature she’s seen one too many times.  Its gnarled fur gleams meanly in the light as it rises to land on two legs, baring its fangs.  A few measly scraps of what she supposes was once clothing hang from its shoulders, doing little to hide the rippling muscle beneath.  It growls again, louder this time.

The instant she realizes what she’s dealing with is the instant that another, identical creature shakes its way from the bushes, its claws flashing dangerously in the light.  It crouches down as if to assess her, its tail lashing from side to side like a whip.

She backs up until she feels bark smack against her spine.  There’s nothing she can do, she realizes; she has nothing to defend herself with, and the others are too far away (and they have more important things to deal with, really, she’s just one person, and a foolish one, at that).

She’s prey, she knows; just another unfortunate victim of the blight.  And what is prey to do?  She can run, yes, but these are no measly prickleboars.

Yet still, when the first daemon lunges at her, claws outstretched, she throws herself to the ground.  She yelps as said claws catch on her dress, pulling her back, and tries first to dislodge herself from its grasp (this is it, she’s going to die, she knows it), before resorting to wild kicks.  Somehow, one is lucky enough to land, providing just enough force to get the daemon to let go.

She’s up within an instant, darting around the tree that would have entrapped her and heading back toward the clearing.  She can be fast if she wants to; maybe she can outrun them, or get far away enough to hide (Velvet was never able to find her when they played hide and seek) and wait for the right moment—

—and then the other daemon leaps in front of her, sending her spiraling back.

She lands hard against the ground, but forces herself up in spite of the pain, backing up, backing up, and now the other daemon’s joined its partner, and both are snarling.  It was foolish to believe that she could have actually escaped, she knows; now all she can do is try to catch her breath and die with some dignity and wonder who these daemons used to be, and which one will lunge at her first—

Something blazes into the space between the daemons and her, moving quickly as the wind itself.  It pauses for only a moment, turning to face the daemons with a silver blade in its palm.  She scarcely has time to react before it surges forward, dispatching the first daemon with a quick slice of its sword, before turning to face the other one.

She inhales sharply.  “Arthur!”

He moves with grace such as she’s never seen, stepping backwards even before the other daemon lunges.  The daemon’s claws suddenly seem woefully unimpressive against the edge of his sword; he ducks, dodging its swipe, and then swirls around viciously, sending the blade soaring across its torso.

The daemon yowls unceremoniously as it dies; the sound has little time to echo before it smashes against the ground, its tongue lolling out from between its teeth.  It’s difficult to believe that something which, just moments ago, could have torn out her throat is now nothing more than a hapless corpse.

She steps forward tentatively, unable to suppress the smile spreading across her face.  “Arthur!  H-How did you even find me?  I’m so sorry; I didn’t mean to—”

He rounds upon her with such ferocity that she nearly jumps.  “And just _what_ were you doing out here, Celica?”

Her lips move, but no words come out.  The icy glare that he’s fixed upon her seems to have taken her voice.  When she finally does speak, she needs to force out the words.  “A-Arthur, I—”

He steps forward.  “Do you understand that could have just happened? That, had I not been here to save you, you could have very well died?”

“Arthur, please!  I didn’t—”

“No—you _would_ have died!”  Arthur pauses for but a moment; it does nothing to diminish his presence.  “Celica, how would you do something so _illogical?_  What were you—”

And that’s it.  Something snaps within her; something warps the surprise, the _fear_ , into white-hot fury (and maybe it’s always been there; now’s just the time).  She steps forward to meet him, her face twisted in an expression she’s sure is a heinous sight, and takes a deep breath.

 _“Illogical?”_ She spits, surprising even herself (and even him, she thinks, judging by the way he stops short).  She ignores the shivers that the word sends down her spine—she’s all fire now, all of the fire that she should have been before.  “Is _that_ what you think of me?  Am I nothing but _illogical_ to you?”  Her hands curl into fists.  “Do you really think that that’s what I wanted to be when I came out here?  That I _wanted_ to be illogical?  That I _wanted_ to get myself hurt?”

His lips part slightly.  She intercepts his words with her own.  “Perhaps, if any of you bothered to explain just what you were planning to do, I wouldn’t have felt the need to get away from all of this!”  She pauses, shaking.  “Arthur, no one has explained anything to me! _You_ haven’t explained anything to me!  And you expect me to just sit there and keep smiling?”

“I’m _sorry_ , Arthur!  I’m sorry that I was too _illogical_ for you! But…if you don’t tell me anything, then what do you _expect_ me to do?” Her voice wavers, and she finally stops, her chest heaving.

Silence.  That’s all she’s gets.  She doesn’t dare look at anything other than Arthur’s eyes, but she can see the way his body seems to unfold, to _sag_ , as if the world has sucked its life away.

(It’s true, isn’t it, she thinks; you’re disappointed in me)

“Celica, I…” Her husband finally says—yet it does nothing to mitigate the biting tide of thoughts racing through her mind (It’s true, I should have known, I should have said something).  He’s been so… _cold_ , she thinks, and what has she done but turn away and sigh?

(You promised to speak to him, why didn’t you, now there’s nothing you can do, but _still_ —)

“I’m so sorry.” It’s not the softness in Arthur’s voice so much as the _crack_ in it, powerful in spite of its tenor, that gives her thoughts pause.  She barely has time to respond before he wraps his arm around her waist and pulls her against him.  “I’m sorry, I really am.”  She feels his chin rest atop her head.  “It’s just…oh, Celica, if I lost you, I don’t know what I would do…”

The words squeeze the life from her chest; the feeling is painful and yet _warm_ , somehow.  The realization hits her all at once, and she feels her eyes burn, but she blinks furiously, forcing it away (I need to be strong, I _need_ to be).  “Arthur…it’s me who should be apologizing.”  She whispers, afraid that to speak louder would be to shatter the air itself.  “I didn’t mean to make you worry, really—”

“No, no, it’s fine.”  He steps away, looking down at her, and his arm moves to her shoulder.  “I mean, it _isn’t_ , but…” (she has to hide a smile at that awkward stutter in his voice, even if it lasts for but a moment) “…listen.  I’ll tell you everything when we get to Loegres—I promise.”  He sighs and looks away for a moment, as if he’s communing with the air, but she feels his hand squeeze her shoulder.  “I promise.”  He repeats.  “But _please—_ please don’t ever put yourself in danger like that again.”

Celica nods.  “I won’t.  I really did think that it was safe…” She blinks. “But more importantly, are you alright, Arthur? Those daemons were fearsome…”

His chuckle surprises her.  “Me? I’m not the one who almost got flattened by them.” He shifts, putting his hand on his hip. “But I’m fine, thank you.” His eyes flit to the tear in her dress.  “How about you?”

She shakes her head.  “I’m fine.  Really.” She adds, noting the way Arthur purses his lips.  A sigh escapes her.  “I’m sorry, Arthur.  I didn’t mean for this happen…”

“I know.  Don’t worry about it.  Really, it’s…” Arthur stops, leaving her to guess at whatever he was about to say.  “Never mind.” He smiles (weakly, but he does) and loops his arm around her shoulders.  “Let’s go back.”

Celica nods.  “Alright,” she murmurs, knowing that (even if it’s just for now) she’s _safe_ , she really is; that all she needs to do is focus on the warmth of his arm around her and not on the bodies of the daemons, still slumped gruesomely nearby.  She’ll never see this place again, she knows—and, despite the fact that the memory of this clearing could have been her last, a strange heaviness embeds itself in her chest.  Perhaps it’s not really this place at all, but…

…but it’s fine.  Arthur’s here and so is she, and that’s all she needs (perhaps it’s not all she wants, but that doesn’t matter anymore).

So when they get back to the camp, and he lifts his arm away and goes to report the incident (that’s what they’re calling it) to Melchior and the others, she tells herself—and not for the first time—that it’s not really sadness that she’s feeling.  There’s no reason to be sad; after all, nothing happened and nobody is hurt (or—).  And sure, perhaps Arthur’s voice takes on a steely edge when he speaks to the other exorcists, but it needs to, she supposes (he’s just tired, just stressed, you’ll see).

“It will be alright.” She whispers to herself later on, as she waits in their tent for Arthur’s return.  She lets the smile spread across her face, even though it hurts, because if she doesn’t smile, who will?  Everyone’s always so serious around here; it’s not so bad to smile, she wants to tell them (she doesn’t).

When Arthur finally returns, his face is weathered yet intact, his voice tired but steady.  He sits in the corner sorting through who knows what until she finally convinces him to go to bed.

“You need to rest, Arthur.”

“I will, I promise.”

“That’s what you always say.”  She reaches out and looses the hair from his ponytail, ruffling it until she’s sure she sees him smile (she’s sure).

She smiles back, of course, even when he finally lays down and his breath begins to steady; she’s smiling even then, even as the tears stream down her cheeks.

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah so tbh, Velvet's words to Arty after the final battle sorta got me thinking?? She says that, even if she and Laphi had died during the Opening, he still would have tried to save the world for them...
> 
> ...which probably means that this man is headed for Angst City no matter what rip 
> 
> BUT in all seriousness, I get the feeling that, even if Celica had survived, Arty still would have wound up similarly to the way he did in canon (maybe not quite as bad but Christ, he puts such burdens on himself and if Celica were involved who knows what he'd do to protect her sighs)
> 
> tl;dr: someone save Arty and Celica too they don't deserve this but I love 1AM angst  
> it's actually almost 2AM but eh
> 
> As for the rest of the AU, I'm working on it...very slowly...but who knows, maybe I'll post the rest of my drabbles up here one day aaaah
> 
> Thanks again to dunyazad! <333


End file.
